Come Away With Me

[Fabien Kaan]

"Explain that to me again."

The tavern was utterly silent after the proprietor's demand, save for the rhythmic smacking of young Fabien's chops. The boy had been drinking heavily, and it was all he could do to resist reaching into the pouch at his hip and keep riding the buzz he'd built up.

He recoiled from the stench of the man's breath and shied away from the stare of his bloodshot, wide eyes. He'd been sitting across the bar for hours now, ordering as many stiff drinks as his body could handle, but only now took notice of the man's stature. Barrel-chested, arms like rivets, a stomach that cascaded over the buckle of his belt.

"Don't have any," he mumbled. It wasn't the first time he'd admitted to being broke after hours of a trusting server's time and effort, but he wasn't known to those in this particular establishment.

He knew what came next, of course, and there had been no plan brewing to deal with the situation. The tender's eyes flashed and he leaned forward with a thick-fingered, ale-sticky hand for the boy's collar.

Fabien was quicker, however, and lurched back in his stool while tucking his chin into his chest. A strange gurgle came from his throat as he watched the hand whiff by, but his movement came at a cost. Wobbling on the high chair, the boy tried to regain his balance but swiveled and tumbled to the floor, his shirt hiking up as his warm cheek smacked the cold wooden surface. He was moving to get up immediately, knowing he could outrun the bastard even in his current state.

He felt hands grabbing him, though, pulling at his shirt and hair, and knew that the nearby customers were not going to tolerate his freeloading. Before they could restrain him fully, one of Fabien's hands darted down to make sure he hadn't dropped the pouch in the fall. It was still there. Good.

That was all he needed.

In the blink of an eye and serenaded by the angry badgering of a half-dozen patrons, he was carried through the doors of the parlor and launched, roughly, off of the shallow balcony and into the dirt of the road. His sword tumbled out of its sheath next to him and he rolled not once, but twice, to rest on his back staring up at the night sky. He couldn't hear the continued shouting from the doorway over the ringing in his ears.

In a moment the yelling stopped, and Fabien lay quietly by the side of the road by his lonesome. He could taste blood, dirt, and booze.

Still, he could manage one deft motion attributed to tremendous practice. He untied the pouch strapped to his hip and dipped his thumb and forefinger inside, then re-fastened it using the others. A silvery, coarse dust in his hand, he dipped his fingers deep into his mouth behind his tongue - for that was how one avoided the flavor - and let it melt at the back of his throat.

And it was a wonderful evening.

[redford]

John seldom turned to drink, as escapism wasn't something he considered respectable, but there were times when the conjured face of his wife kept him from sleep and peace until he'd drowned the mental image in liquor. And so here he sat, with a growing pyramid of shot glasses. The glasses were too small, so he'd been taking them two at a time lately.

The harsh liquid burned the back of his mouth again, less irritating this time, the twentieth of the evening. The bartender, a portly man who seemed strong despite his waistband, whistled as John emptied the last of the bottle into a shot glass. He quickly drank and it joined the glass tower.

"No normal man can drink that much and not feel it, friend," he said, setting another bottle at John's side.

John's armor at his index finger formed a corkscrew growing from his fingertip and he twisted the bottle into it. With a pop, the cork came loose and John soon drank his twenty second shot. He shot a glare at the tender, whom he still towered over even though he was sitting atop a stool.

"Do I look normal to you?" John asked, tipping back another shot. If he didn't drink quickly enough, his massive liver would destroy his growing buzz before it flowered into drunkenness. He continued to drink, making sure to toss the appropriate amount of gold onto the bar before pulling the cork on his bottles. Though he doubted the rabble inside the darkened bar could force him to leave, he'd rather not garner any more strange looks and whispers by stealing, much like that odd fellow who was carted out a few minutes ago. John turned his eyes back to the bottles he'd accrued. He'd quite lost count of how many shots he'd consumed, but he was definitely feeling it. He looked over at the bottles.

Three? Yeah three bottles. That's at least thirty shots or something.

"Uh, sir, I think I'm gonna cut you off," the bartender said.

John pulled his bottle from the bartender's grasp, taking a swig straight from it. "Do I look normal to you?" he said, struggling to keep his head from flying off.

"I don't think you understand, I'm just try-"

"I don't think YOU understand," John slurred, leaning back slightly in the stool and pointing a finger at the barkeep. He misjudged the distance, and he poked the tender in the chest, which served to push him back enough to topple him.

John's massive body landed on the floor with a crash, and he laid there for a few seconds before he realized that the bottle wasn't quite empty yet. He lifted it to his lips, spilling quite a bit on his shirt as he maneuvered the neck of the bottle to his mouth and drained it.

He felt his arm being lifted, and grunted as a few of the patrons tugged at him. It was a few moments before they gathered enough men to drag his massive body out the door. John tried to lift his head, but decided against it and stared at the stars for a moment before catching movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly and saw blonde hair. Below the mop of hair sat a person, John vaguely recognized him.

[Fabien Kaan]

Oh, how the stars danced! They played a game with him, bright lights dancing back and forth and to and fro and up and down and all around. The stars blurred into the sky around them, a dark trail behind each delightful speckle that pranced about for his amusement. Around in circles they went, reversing on one another and creating such delicate patterns.

Fabien giggled stupidly. He felt so nice. So good. His chest burned lightly and his face was hot, his hands clenching in tandem with each beat of his heart. He felt so at peace, at one with the world, as if the earth beneath him had wrapped him in a tight hug and whispered that everything was alright. He felt powerful and influential, though in reality he could not have moved from his resting place outside of the tavern.

He sighed and laughed, his mouth caked in blood that had trickled down from his nose moments before. He couldn't have cared less about the world around him.

Fabien did not hear the rough landing of the man next to him. John's hefty frame kicked up dust, dirt and stones as he slid to a rest next to the blonde, but Fabien was transfixed on the space above like a child first discovering the sky. A moment passed before he deigned to look over, to see the massive beast looking back at him.

"Uh," he managed to mutter. John's intense, blue eyes looked back at him. The creature was a solid two feet taller, steeled, covered in muscle. He was far too large to be human, Fab thought. He saw him as a specter, or perhaps a wight, tall and so white he looked to be undead - his eyes burned a deep purple and his cheeks were hallowed after years of post-death. An orange glow surrounded his head and frame, promising death.

"Aiiiiiieeeeeeeeeiiiiii!!!!" he screamed, as loudly as his lungs could muster. It echoed along the narrow road. Fabien tried to scamper away, to get to the side of the tavern, but found his limbs utterly useless. His hands pushed dirt and rock forward but did nothing to help him move, as his lower body refused to cooperate in any manner.

It was the dust, of course. It made the huge, imposing man into a monster. It made Fabien unable to use his body the way he desired. It also brought him into a different world, where the lights and sounds were meaningful, where taste and hearing and touch were one.

It also lasted but a few heartbeats. A few tremendous, life-affirming, worthwhile heartbeats. He'd only managed to scamper back a foot or two before he began to come back to reality, and see John for what he was.

[redford]

John had managed to roll himself into a sitting position, with his back to the wall of the tavern, when he looked across to the thief that had been thrown out earlier. He looked odd, John thought, but his drunken mind could not place why. Eventually he stumbled over the reason. He was an elf. After a moment's thought, John noticed that he seemed to be looking through him instead of at him. His nose was also bleeding, though the fluid looked black in the dim light of orange windows and twinkling stars.

The thief's eyes snapped into focus for a half a moment before he screamed, trying desperately to recoil from John's monstrous form. John thought the action quite normal, for after all, he was a monster after all. People recoiled from him all the time, this elf was simply more honest than most. John looked down at his bottle as the elf continued to stare. It was empty and useless now, and John squeezed on it with a massive hand. His fingers came round almost to touch themselves, and he felt the bottle implode, his armor protecting him from any gashes. He looked at the shards, finding their texture fascinating before he remembered there was an elf staring at him.

He looked back, fighting the urge to vomit, and spoke slowly, with a drawl that showed his inebriation.

"Do I look normal to you?"

[Fabien Kaan]

The dust was potent but short-lived. Fabien was back in the realm of reality in a flash, but it took another few heartbeats to catch his breath as he stared ahead at John.

He was a barbarian, the boy initially thought. Taught with muscles bigger than he'd ever seen, a squared and stubbled jaw, broad shoulders and huge, armored arms and shoulders. Fabien doubted he could even stand, if using the same equipment. The fact that John, so easily, not only did this but also crushed the empty bottle so dramatically brought a shiver to his spine.

Finally gaining his bearings, Fabien took inventory of his situation. He was only a few feet from John's position, both of them on the same side of the road outside of the tavern. Across the road was a shallow treeline he knew led to another part of town. On either side of them were rows of dark, wooden homes, the majority of them showing no light coming from their windows. Understandable, given the hour.

He heard John's question and tried to quell his panic. If this beast disliked his answer, the nearby trees were his only bet - but Fab didn't think he could stand up straight, let alone sprint.

Appeasement was his best course of action. But how?

"N-no, not really," he eventually stammered out, his voice coughing out of a dry throat. "You look greater than normal, like... like a gladiator from one of the old tales."

He wanted to gauge John's reaction to this, but he lost composure and continued before a response could come. "But not like a... like a killer or something. You look like a big guy who, uh... takes care of himself, maybe a farmer's bo-er... a soldier. Definitely not one to... to pick on the weaker and that sort of thing."

[redford]

John crushed the shards of glass in his hands, rendering them into a sand-like dust. He heard the words, and chuckled a bit. If only the elf knew what he'd done, he might not have placed such confidence in John's moral fiber. He leaned his head back, looking up at the stars. He spoke, more to himself than anything.

"Well, that shows what you know."

John sighed, letting the glass dust fall through his fingers into the dirt. His past actions stuck with him, ground on his mind until he found escape in the bottle. And even when he did find respite, it was only for a moment. He already felt his mind clearing a little. He attempted to get up, but he was still quite drunk, and fell sideways, right at the unfortunate elf.

[Fabien Kaan]

Understanding flashed in Fabien's young eyes. John had demons to fight, deep inside. He was likely not a threat, and Fabien sighed with relief at that.

He still bristled when John fell toward him, though. John would crush him accidentally, moments after Fab realized he was not an evil creature here to destroy him.

Fabien shifted to the side and managed to move, so that the massive human's body only struck his side and pushed him, but it was still enough to brought a gasp out of the boy. John knocked the wind out of him just by knocking him shoulder-to-shoulder; he couldn't imagine what it would be like if John wanted to hurt him.

Now they sat side by side, and Fabien had an idea. He produced his pouch of dust from his pocket.

"It sounds like you might be, uh," he hesitated a moment. "Running from something. Come to the bottle, like me, to feel free for a bit?"

He shook the drunken haze off and pressed his eyes shut. Was he really going to offer this, and perhaps try to get some gold out of this man who moments before seemed like a dire threat?

"Try a bit of this," he said, and presented the open pouch. Inside was a handful of pearl-white dust. Were it daytime, John would have been able to see colors dancing around among the dust, as it caught the light. "Either sniff it or eat it, it'll do the same to ya. Doesn't last long, but it'll carry you away... it's a more powerful escape than a bottle will ever get ya."

[redford]

John glanced sideways at the elf as he spoke again. He spoke quite a bit, John thought. The elf, while speaking well, spoke of things he could not possibly understand. Three people understood, and that was perhaps two too many. But, he could hardly fault him for trying. He pushed the bag away, sighing. He came to the bottle so he didn't have to feel any more, and he'd made peace with that a long time ago. And though the dust seemed tempting, his mind was already clearing, the shame of his drunkenness eclipsing the shame of his past now. He pushed the little bag away, retracting his arm.

"No, I will be fine," he said, looking down from his sitting position at his hands. He tapped the fingers of his right hand together, hearing the metal sing faintly each time he did. The armor protected his body, but not his mind, and especially not from himself. He tilted his head back, feeling it come to rest against wooden planks. In a few moments he'd have a splitting headache, he'd go home, drink some water, and lay down until morning. It was what he did, it was the routine he'd perfected over the years. He just had to wait until he could stand effectively.

[Fabien Kaan]

Fabien nodded, partially relieved and partially disappointed. He wanted someone to share this experience with. He shut the pouch and tucked it back away, knowing John would not be that person.

Something flew by his head, inches away, to explode against a nearby rock. An empty bottle of some kind.

"Still here?!" a voice bellowed from behind them. Fabien turned sluggishly to see the bartender at the doorway, the flicking lights of the tavern outlining him in a fiery orange glow.

Fabien tried to rise to his feet, but stumbled back down. He felt dizzy and heavy, and his breathing was heavier than normal.

And then the bartender began moving out onto the porch and down the steps of his establishment, a sweaty brow shining in the moonlight. He wasn't alone, as a handful of his most loyal customers followed him out, one pounding his fist into his palm like an eager caricature. They weren't after John, as he'd paid for his inebriation.

"Beat this kid 'til he's learned his fuckin' lesson!" the human bellowed.

Fabien managed to make it to his feet, and eyed John pleadingly. He couldn't run away in his present state, he knew, and whatever magic he could conjure was unstable at best.

[redford]

Four large men poured out of the bar, approaching the boy. He was frightened, standing on shaky legs and taking shuffling, quick steps back with his hands out in front of him. In all likelihood he was going to get his teeth kicked in. The boy was a thief, and likely deserved the beating he was about to receive.

But, as the first of four men rushed out of the bar, John felt for the kid. Maybe it was because he was the underdog. Maybe it was because he had no protection, no shield from the pain of the world, or maybe it was just because he'd spent a few moments of drunken stupor with him; it did not matter. John had resolved to help him, and was already standing.

Drunk or not, he was much faster than any of them, and shifted his imposing form in front of the boy.

Though he would knock their heads together if need be, he felt no burning desire to fight these men, much less fight them drunk. He might accidentally kill one of them. He extended sharp spikes from his armor, all around his chest and arms, roaring mightily at the assailants.